


Death Becomes Her

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, BAMF Rey, Battle Couple, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gift Exchange, Kidnapping, Lactation Kink, Light Angst, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Kylo Ren, Pregnancy, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Throne Sex, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Rey, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: For theprompt:Hades and Persephone AU. Kylo takes Rey to the Underworld, and she realizes that it's not too bad of a place. Bonus if Rey gets knocked up.He watches the liquid trickle as it slides down the space between her breasts...fast, then slow, along the dip of her belly. It hovers above the fullness of her mons, the single drop refracting the light and green of the canopy above, and all he can think about is how much he wants to capture it with his tongue. To lick the hot salt of her skin, and lose himself in that bright, earthy scent as he breathes her in.He is Death. And she ishis.





	Death Becomes Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhonda3Green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhonda3Green/gifts).



> Dear Rhonda3Green,
> 
> I've been absent from fandom for a bit, but this fest has always been one of my favorites and I was thrilled to be a part of it again. 
> 
> I was so excited to receive your prompts! Not only did many of your likes align with mine, but I'd always wanted to write a mythological AU and jumped at the chance to write a Hades and Persephone one for you. You also allowed me to explore some new kinks (pregnancy sex, lactation), although perhaps it's more of a hint than a true exploration. Baby steps ;)
> 
> I've tried to incorporate as many of your wishes as I could, as well as some of your other suggestions (hello, Throne Room Sex and Knights of Ren)! I hope you enjoy what I've come up with. Here's wishing you the most beautiful of years!! <3
> 
> *Unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own.

 

**I**

They say that the edge of the forest is laced with danger, particularly where it meets the river whose murky waters give no sign of its true depth. Warnings of evil, of the most feared of the supernatural, are passed from generation to generation even before the young have the ability to truly comprehend their meaning. It is something that amuses him—as if by keeping a physical distance between the mortal and the Underworld, they could somehow escape his touch. It is a fallacy, for he is everywhere.

Death knows nothing of time, nor boundaries.

The first time he sees her she is but a child, approaching the river Acheron with a curious wonder. The waters in this region are dark and lifeless, their ice-cold stillness holding no signs of the brilliant blues of the water pits nor the greens that lie between the canyons teeming with fauna. Instead, she shows no fear in a situation that would give men three times her age and size pause. He watches her with an unwilling fascination—this determined, lithe thing, too filled with life to have any part in his world, scavenging the area for herbs that many of the villagers use in their healing potions in an effort to thwart his arrival.

The idea is quaint, and causes him to smirk; the salve of the most potent eucalyptus leaves are more a balm for humanity’s hope than the power he wields, if he so desires.

She holds his attentions for several minutes more, then he lets out a sigh. There is a pestilence that is sweeping across the rift valleys to the south, devastating the crops and spreading fear and hunger. These very shores would undoubtedly be filled soon with the souls of the newly dead, straining the skins that overlap the wooden hull of Phasma’s boat as she ferries them to the Underworld. He sweeps the edges of his cloak across his shoulders but finds himself drawn once more, catching a glimpse of her tanned face, the freckles that dot her nose as she tilts her head toward the sky.

She is a pretty sight, but it is not her time.

He goads his steed into a fierce gallop.

**II**

It is several years before he sees her once more. This time, it is for ironwort, and this time, her face is still tanned but her jaw more slender, her lips fuller, and her cheeks delicately flushed.

“This is no place for little children,” Phasma says with a frown. Even sitting, her presence is towering, but the girl refuses to cower.

“I am not a child. I will be thirteen in June.”

To her credit, Phasma holds back a smile. “Thirteen years is the equivalent of a second where I come from,” she murmurs.

“And where is that?” the girl asks. The tip of her nose scrunches up as her eyes narrow. She points toward the simple structure that sits at a highest point above the river, safe from its churning waters. “Isn’t that your house over there?”

“It is. A home, of sorts, although I shuttle between two worlds. So in essence, I have none.”

The girl frowns a bit. She drags her toe across the groundcover, the tip of her leather sandal bending the blades of grass and exposing the rich soil underneath. From his vantage point, he can only see her profile, but from the way her body straightens, he can tell that she’s weighing her words. “Are you…?” The girl takes a breath, then tries again. “I don’t have parents to speak of, not really. But I do have a family in my neighbors, and an appreciation of nature. And in that, I am one with the world.”

“The question is, which one?” Phasma asks, her face finally breaking out into a wicked smile.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which world do you belong to? The one whose air you breathe, whose waters you drink, whose land lays solid beneath your feet?” Phasma looks down, the strands of her blonde hair the color of spun gold in the sun, her blue eyes piercing. “Or the one where time is meaningless, food is tasteless, and sorrow endless?” She turns her face toward the waters of the Acheron, the left side of it an angry, twisted mass of red and puckered flesh.

The child hitches her breath—too slight to be heard by mortal ears, which he catches above the whisper of a breeze. “The second doesn’t sound very appealing,” she says, much to his affront.

Phasma watches her carefully. “It is not meant to be.” She stands, her body graceful yet well-muscled, intimidating in more than just her height. “You should not be here. It is foolish to tempt the Fates into something before your time.”

“I have a right to be here,” the girl says stubbornly, her chin jutting out at a mulish angle. When her eyes meet Phasma’s look of surprise, they turn contrite. “It’s just that the herbs that grow in this region are more potent than any I’ve ever seen.”

Phasma’s nostrils flare. “It is not only the pungency of the plants that scent the air. When the wind picks up, there is an acridness that speaks of something sad and foul. This is not a place for someone of your lightness of being.”

“You’re here.”

“I may have a foot in both realms, but my allegiance is to the Dark.”

The girl shakes her head. “So you say. Yet you still found it important to warn me of the danger, so you must have enough lightness in you as well.” Her grip tightens on the handles of her basket, the gold and light green leaves of the ironwort spilling over its edges.

Phasma stares in astonishment at her brazeness. “You are unusual.”

“Perhaps. I’ve been told I have a tendency to speak my mind.” The girl shifts her basket on to her left hip and holds out her hand. “I’m Rey.”

He watches as Phasma hesitates, then shakes Rey’s hand, dwarfing it with her pale, calloused grip. “Phasma,” she says with reluctance in her voice. Her golden head tilts in the direction of the boat that sits along the riverbank. “I provide safe passage for travelers along these waters.”

The girl’s eyes widen with inquisitiveness. From this angle, he sees that they are the color of winterbloom. “Perhaps you will take me one day.”

“Undoubtedly,” Phasma answers, her voice sad. “But hopefully, not too soon.”

**III**

He hasn’t seen her for five years. The wars are raging throughout the continent; his Knights have been scattered to deal with the increasing numbers of mortals who fall to illness, hunger, or violence. He spends most of his time in his kingdom, the invisible realm which knows no bounds, yet whose resources are severely strained by the sudden and massive influx of the non-living. It has only been in the last month that the malevolence of the world—from nature’s cruelty, and man’s own—has subsided to a level that is sustainable.

The sunlight is welcome on his face. Contrary to what many believe, he is not a creature only of the Dark; he can appreciate Earth’s beauty. His kingdom is filled with items from his time above ground. They fill the gloom with color, although many of the things which fascinate him are temporary, unable to flourish in a place that’s short of light and laughter. He is seen as a torturer, by some, and a monster, by many. But the truth is that he is neither.

What he is, is unbearably lonely.

On this fateful day, she sets about gathering her medicinals in the area where the Acheron, the Pryiphlegethon, and the Cocytus rivers meet. Her brown hair falls in tendrils about her face, while her brow furrows in concentration. Her cheeks have grown prominent, highlighted by the kiss of the sun along its curves, and her lips lush, even when they’re set in a pout. She navigates the terrain with a comfortable familiarity. The muscles in her legs flex, the straps of her sandals winding along her lean calves like the vines on a tree, caressing each step she takes. The folds of her chiton sway with the rise and fall of her hips, and a simple belt highlights the narrowness of her waist. He feels something stirring within him—both an intrigue, as well as a possessiveness, the breadth of it welling deep within his gut and surprising him with its forcefulness.

“You must be extremely foolish, or foolishly brave.” The words come out, clipped and judgmental. As sharp as the lines in the speaker’s face, and as unmistakable as the copper of his hair.

“What’s to say that I’m not extremely brave?” Rey asks the man who approaches her. Her words are measured, not flirtatious in the least, nor do they suggest timidness of spirit.

The Oracle’s green eyes turn flinty. His hands twitch at his sides, as if eager to divine her future, but he refrains. “We could settle on bravely foolish. Beyond the convergence of these three rivers lies the Kingdom of the Dead. A sudden slip could make all the difference in the world.”

“If it is my fate, then I would accept it. If I have a choice, I would fight.”

A look of rebuke flashes across the Oracle’s visage. “There is also something to be said for respect. There is a reason why people such as I exist. You stray too close to the land of the immortals. There are many before you who have suffered their wrath, at such a show of impudence.”

“All I am seeking is sage. Our village has suffered devastating losses in the last several years; women and men, lost to warfare. So many children, parentless. My adopted mother, Maz, has been busy revitalizing the land, but our plantings do not have the potency of the ones which grow in this region.”

“I am afraid you are greatly mistaken. It is true that the herbs which are fed from these waters are more powerful than those of the surrounding lands. They are imbued with my Lord’s magic, but those that grow here serve his purpose. There is parsley, sprung from the blood of Archemorous, and basil, to accompany the dead to the Afterlife. The Lethe is dotted with chamomile which helps induce a deep sleep. Why would you think that an herb whose purpose is to ward off death and bring upon its user immortality would be found here, in all places?”

“Because if it had the ability to grow amongst such formidable conditions, it would be the most powerful one of all.”

The Oracle’s expression turns almost greedy. “May I?” He holds out a slim hand, which Rey takes after a moment’s hesitation.

There’s something that roars deep within his chest at the sight. It is irrational; Hux is the _Necromanteion,_ his second in command—a greater conduit than even Phasma between the living and the spirits of the dead. Hux exists to serve _him,_ yet there is almost a sense of betrayal as he watches Hux’s hand slide across her warm skin. He bares his teeth, and it takes all his effort not to show himself in that very moment.

The feeling passes as Hux’s pale lashes flutter shut. His mouth parts slightly, his breath hitches, and his next words are spoken from another plane:

_“It is the wind the carries the seed. The soil that allows it to take root. Rainwater that softens it. And time which allows it to flourish.”_

The Oracle’s eyes snap open. He may have foretold Rey’s future, but as his sharp gaze scours the landscape, the riddle is just as much for the one who lies in hiding.

**IV**

Three months later, he catches her in the quieter part of the river. He realizes that she must live in one of the neighboring villages. It is a simple life here, the denizens more focused on living off the land than scholarly pursuits. He knows from the snippets of the conversations Rey’s had with Phasma and Hux that she is comfortable outdoors, and that her role is both physically and spiritually demanding, but it still takes his breath away when he spies her in her naked glory for the first time.

As a youngling, Rey was impetuous. At thirteen, defiant. At seventeen, introspective. And now, at eighteen years of age, with the late August sun casting dappled shadows from the trees that hover near the water’s edge flickering patterns onto her skin, he can see that her body has matured as well as her mind, from the curve of her chest, to the swell of her hips, and the curls that lay at the juncture of her thighs.

Her hands curve together in an attempt to catch the stream, the azure waters falling through her fingers as she dips her face into its coolness. He watches the liquid trickle as it slides down the space between her breasts...fast, then slow, along the dip of her belly. It hovers above the fullness of her mons, the single drop refracting the light and green of the canopy above, and all he can think about is how much he wants to capture it with his tongue. To lick the hot salt of her skin, and lose himself in that bright, earthy scent as he breathes her in.

He is Death. And she is _his._

The surety of that knowledge causes the blood to pound through his veins. He ignores the swelling of his cock, waiting until she finishes her bath, his eyes greedily drinking in every inch of her tanned flesh until she is modestly covered. What he has planned needs to be done as swiftly as possible—they are close to the village, and he is not besotted enough to believe that she will go easily. Although he requires his Knights’ assistance, she is already his in his mind, and he refuses to allow her pulchritude to be defiled by anyone else’s eyes.

As soon as she slips on her chiton and fastens the fibula at her shoulder, he sounds the call. His Knights traverse the world faster than the wind, through a combination of portals from the underground and their immortal speed. He urges his horse forward in front of the group, the stallion’s ears flattening, nostrils flaring, eyes widening as they approach the shocked woman in a cloud of brimstone and woodsmoke. The earth vibrates from the pounding of the horses’ hooves, the air growing thick with dust and the smell of triumph and his desire.

Futilely, she tries to run. He bears down, and with one arm, scoops her up with a strength that can only be described as inhuman and deposits her at his side. She shows no fear despite the events that have transpired within the span of a second, and there is an ironic pride that wells up inside him as she lashes out in anger.

“Unhand me!” She struggles against him, but he presses her to his chest and holds her in his steely grasp. “Who do you think you are?”

He doesn’t slow his pace as he whispers into her ear. “I am Kylo Ren. Death is my Kingdom, and you belong to me.”

**V**

“Please. You must eat.”

Rey takes a look at Mitaka. The servant’s skin is the color of milk, with a faint, bluish hue from the lack of sun. “You never do. Neither you, nor Thanisson,” she says, gesturing to the lithe young man who stands by the doorway.

“We do not require nourishment of that kind. Only those who still exist in the mortal world benefit from its consumption.”

“Then bring it back there,” Rey demands petulantly. “Soon, it will be useless to me or anyone else. It is wasteful for Kylo to insist on bringing such a bounty to this place, when it could benefit those who are willing to consume it.”

“There was a time when I would have given anything to taste such things.” Thanisson’s brown eyes are almost too huge for his delicate face, and it gives him the appearance of permanent longing. He eyes wander the length of the table, overflowing with all types of meats and fruits and grains. “The place where I grew up was landlocked. I never knew what it would be like to taste fish that was fresh from the sea.”

“Please.” Rey holds up a platter of mackerel. “You have ample opportunity now. I won’t tell.”

“If only I could,” Thanisson begins.

“It’s not that we _can’t,”_ Mitaka hastily clarifies as Rey adopts a mulish expression, “or that Kylo would refuse us such things if we required them for our sustenance. But food is for the living. We have no need for it, so in order to maintain enough for those that do, our hunger and taste are dulled.”

“Those who retain a connection with the world above—you, Kylo, and his Knights, for example—are the only ones who can truly taste the salt or sweet, or the bitterness of such things.”

“But...such things are important, and not just for nourishment. There is a joy to the experience, as well.” Rey’s eyes narrow as she looks at Thanisson, then Mitaka. “You are far too young to deserve a fate such as this.”

Thanisson shakes his head. “Rarely when it comes to Death, does ‘deserving’ have any meaning. It is just the way things are.” His amber eyes dart down, as if finding something interesting on the cold, stone floor. “My parents were stuck roaming the shores of the Acheron, without the means to secure their passage to the Underworld. I offered myself in exchange for their transport.”

Rey looks at him in shock. “You bargained with the god of Death?”

“Some say ‘bargain’. It is as foolish as those who think they can cheat him. Kylo is neither foolish nor weak, nor is he a monster, despite that which some might think. He weighs all options—his, mine, as well as the balance of the world.”

“You say he is not a monster. Yet he abducted me against my will.”

“He is a god, Rey,” Mitaka says gently, “but that does not make him free of foibles or the vagaries of his heart. ‘Tis no different than the tempers or lust or jealousies that befall the other gods and goddesses, many of whom carry less of a burden.”

“But why me? I have not done anything on my part to inspire such feelings, nor do I want them. I belong on the Earth. My job is in healing.”

“And does not the Earth have sadness? Right outside our entrance, we have Grief and Fear, Hunger and Anxiety, Agony and Guilt, Discord and War. They may be factors which align with our world, but they exist because of what goes on above us. In the world to which you are so eager to return.”

“I do not make excuses for the weaknesses of humans, but I cannot ignore such suffering either, Mitaka.” Rey stops suddenly, a dawning awareness overtaking her face. “You mentioned jealousy and lust. What does that have to do with me?”

“Surely that’s obvious, Rey?” Thanisson says gently. “Kylo—”

“That’s enough, Thanisson,” Mitaka barks sharply, his impersonal facade fully back in place. He sets down the last of the dishes, a dessert dotted with sesame and poppy seeds and drizzled with petimezi, then turns to leave. “We’ve already said too much.”

*****

“You need to eat.”

She looks up at him. She’s still beautiful, but the days of starvation have carved out a gauntness to her cheeks. Worse is the dullness which settles into her skin, like a grey sheen that mutes her light.

“You’ve taken away my choice in nearly all things already. Must you take this, too?”

“You. Will. Eat!” Kylo roars, a growl that is born from anger and worry. His hand inches towards the hilt of his sword until her eyes flare in contempt at the movement. She juts out her chin, defiance blazing across her face despite the fact that her lips are trembling.

“Or what? You will slay me? If I should starve myself, the end result is the same. I end up in all circumstances a prisoner in your Kingdom, but at least with one of them, I have a hand in my destiny.”

“You—” Kylo bites back a retort, trying another tactic instead. “What can I do to make things better? I lay before you the best of what the world has to offer. Am I so terrible? Tell me what I can give you, that I have not already.”

“My freedom,” Rey says simply.

He looks away. “Anything but that.” There is a heartbreak in his voice that must speak to her, because for the first time that week she inches forward, not in defiance or anger or fear, but with unabashed curiosity. “You should want someone who wishes to stay of their own volition.”

Shame wars with pride, but in the end, honesty wins out. “People fear and despise me. The poets who praise the beauty and majesty of the heavens and the seas write dirges that lament my existence. If I am to be thought of that way in words, why would I expect you to feel any differently?”

Rey remains silent. After several minutes, she plucks a small handful of pomegranate seeds from a plain bowl and brings it to her lips. As the dark red juice trickles over the corner of her mouth and stains her skin, her sad expression makes his victory seem strangely hollow.

*****

For a place that’s an endless repository of uncertainty and finality, Rey’s footsteps echo eerily through the corridor as if in watchful waiting. It’s been nearly a month since she’s seen the beauty of the blue sky or felt the warmth of the sun against her face, and it’s almost frightening how the images of the land where she’s spent nearly two decades of her life have already started to bleed away. The pine-like scent of rosemary is no longer sharp in her memory; the woody aroma of fennel, less deep. It leaves her in a strange, transitory state—neither part of the Living nor the Dead, and without purpose.

One of Kylo’s Knights enters and gives her a curt nod. They’re a strange group—bipedal, but of varying heights and sizes, and some move with a grace and quality that seems distinctly _non-human._ Her trepidation upon first seeing them has now morphed into a growing curiosity, and she pads behind him, careful to dull the sounds of her own footsteps behind the clicks of his boots as he enters Kylo’s chambers.

The Throne Room is where Kylo often spends his time while not asleep or above ground. Rey has refused to outwardly acknowledge him or the room’s existence until now. It is a reminder of all the things she loathes—the nature of his purpose, his ruthless nature, and the eternity of her imprisonment. But she was always blessed with a curiousness, and without any other activity to keep her occupied, throws caution to the wind as she hides behind one of the large pillars that flank the entrance and peeps in.

The Knight sinks down onto one knee, his head bowed in respect until Kylo waves him up. Unfortunately, he never rids himself of his mask, although Rey would almost swear she sees the flicker of a tail from her vantage point. “There are too many falling in the East, Lord Ren. The tidal waves and floods have caused large portions of the earth to fall back into the seas. Scores are missing. Their fate is in our hands, but they are far too many for me to handle alone.”

Kylo scoffs. “My brother is vindictive and tempestuous, yet I am the one who is evil.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Once again, I am required to bring closure to someone else’s consequence, and be reviled for it.” He brings out a large globe, the thick glass glowing, then clearing to reveal images too faint for Rey to see from such a distance. The pictures appear to cause Kylo great consternation, however, as his full lips draw into a frown. “I will ask Unamo and VonReg to assist you. I cannot do more at this time, as there is also a war that is brewing in the northwest.”

The Knight bows his head slightly. “I understand, and am grateful for your generous assistance, my Lord.”

“Is that all?” Upon the Knight’s nod of assent, Kylo continues. “Then I thank you for your all your efforts. They do not go unnoticed.”

Rey is surprised to discover that the words, although not uncommon, are not empty of meaning as they spill from Kylo’s lips. The Knight rises to his full height and she ducks behind the pillar once more as he stalks out, her breath caught in her throat as he comes perilously close. There is a cold chill that follows the sweep of his robes, one that stinks of lifelessness.

When his footsteps are no more, she allows herself to breathe. Kylo has gone back to his globe, the images swirling in reds and purples and the deepest blues.

“You may come closer, if you are so curious,” Kylo murmurs, never taking his eyes off the mysterious sphere.

Rey swallows. She’s sure that the sound of it can be heard in the rafters it’s so loud, but the combination of her curiosity and defiance makes her tilt her chin and tread slowly towards the back of the room where Kylo is seated. He does not look up at her, but she can tell by his quiet tension that he is utterly aware, and she uses the opportunity of his downcast gaze to drink in his terrifying beauty.

Kylo’s hair is as dark as a raven’s wing, and his skin the paleness of moonlight. Even when he stills, he thrums with energy. It is apparent in the furrow of his brow, the way his large, thick fingers hover over the limitless curve of the globe, and the broadness of his shoulders that form an angry, tense line atop his back. The silence rumbles between them, and for a moment, Rey wonders if it’s too vast to break.  

She takes a deep breath, refusing to be cowed. “Trouble, my Lord?”

Kylo’s brow raises a hair at the honorific. It is the first time she’s addressed him thus, and she’s sure it does the job, breaking his composure. “When is there not?” he grumbles.

The images in the crystal ball are still hazy from this angle. “One of your knights was here. I didn’t mean to intrude—”

The smallest of smiles quirk at the corner of Kylo’s lips. “You most certainly did.”

“Regardless,” Rey huffs. “I couldn’t help but overhear.” A bit of her bravado falters. “You spoke of the war in the northwest. I...it is where I grew up. Have the number of the fallen risen?”

Kylo’s eyes soften a fraction at the tightness in her voice. “It is war,” he says simply.

Rey squeezes her eyes tight, fighting against the pinprick of tears which threaten her vision. “My friends...Maz, the woman who raised me. They are all I have.” She feels Kylo’s eyes skating over her, assessing her, but when she lifts her gaze to his there is no judgment in their amber depths, only a cautious patience. “Maz taught me the ways of the healers. It is why I was often down by the waters of the Acheron. The potency of the plants along its bank are often unrivaled.”

“It is because they are unspoiled by the touch of mortals. Most of the souls who find themselves along the Acheron’s banks have less worldly pursuits on their minds.”

“Is there…” Rey flushes, hating how meek her voice sounds. “You told your Knight that you would be pulling several others from the region. Does that mean there will be less fighting? Fewer wounded?”

“How powerful you must think I am, to have that kind of influence,” Kylo replies with a wry chuckle.

“You are Death. One of the most powerful deities of them all.”

“You flatter me. But the situation is not of my own doing. I am the last in a line of many.” He holds out his hand and gestures for her to step in front of him. The crystal ball beckons her, the images flaring, then coalescing in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

She bends down, then lets herself go. The senses which she usually relies on fade into the distance. She allows herself to be drawn into the whirling mist, until the cries of battle pierce through the miasma, the anguished sounds nearly inhuman, filled with agony and violence as the copper stench of blood fouls the air.

Rey pulls up suddenly, her breaths fast and cheeks pale. “Make it stop!”

Kylo is taken aback. “You...you saw?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

She turns and beats her fists against his chest. He’s tall and imposing, and his body is unyielding as he barely flinches from her attack. Kylo stands there as the weeks of frustration and the years of loss come pouring out of her, the hard slaps of her palms echoing throughout the chamber until they finally dull, mixing with her muffled sobs.

“How could you be so cruel? You _are_ a monster,” she chokes out, the thick fabric of his himation twisting in her fist.

She feels him take a deep breath. Slowly, his fingers, large and calloused, cup her chin and gently tilt her face so she cannot avoid the naked honesty and pain in his eyes.

“The disagreement and violence are of man’s own doing, although Ares and Eris certainly fan the flames. And when my darling nephew and niece aren’t up to mischief, my brothers most certainly take their place. The fires and floods which are ravaging the South and the East are the result of their petty disputes and vanity. Yet I am the one who you call a monster.” He drops his hand, his voice rumbling deep from in his chest. “Death is inevitable. It is the nature of things, and should not be thought of as cruel, but necessary. My Knights and I are often the last in line of a chain of events that have already been set into motion.”

“You choose when, and how.”

“Perhaps. But not without history and prior events to guide me. I do not act without just cause.”

Rey takes a step back. “You abducted me,” she says accusingly.

The softness leaves Kylo’s face in an instant. “I told you,” he says, visibly struggling with his words before stalking out. “You belong to me.”

**VI**

Night has little meaning in the Underworld. There is no sun to determine the changes in the hours, and for the majority, sleep is endless and, therefore, meaningless. But there are times when Kylo steals away to his bedchambers to quiet the pain which he encounters from day to day. For those who seek a quick and sudden death, perhaps violently while in the midst of battle, or who gasp their last breath while their eyes are closed in slumber, he has no equal. But it is those who are surrounded by loved ones, who seek mercy or peace, that he has the greatest difficulty with.

He has never been great with words, preferring to showcase his abilities with the sweeping scope of his prowess instead. He is equal to, if not greater, than his brothers in the impact he wields. But Zeus and Poseidon have wives and children, while Kylo is left to shoulder the burden of his gifts alone.

Sometimes at night, he takes his cock in hand. The first time Rey came to _him,_ first in fear, then curiosity, then anger, she fascinated him with her boldness. When she glimpsed his world in his crystal ball—a feat which none of his Knights have been able to do with any great proficiency—he was filled with an arousal and possessiveness and pride that shook him to his very core.

He thinks of her slim form. The sadness which she exhibited upon entering the Underworld is still there, but now it has softened, leaving her more mature and contemplative. Her cheeks are more hollow, their prominent lines focusing attention to her lush lips and expressive eyes, which lately have been darkening with something more than distrust.

Something like desire.

He strokes slowly, cupping his balls, his legs falling to the sides as his cock fattens in his hand. He thinks back to the confusion which flits over her face whenever she feels his presence at her side, and the way her lips part, with the flash of teeth as her breaths quicken. He remembers the way her hazel eyes turn dark, the gold flecks giving way to a deep green that rival the flora of Thassos, and the flush of pink which suffuses her skin, the pallor of his kingdom no match for the blush of her virgin innocence.

 _“Fuck,”_ he groans as his thumb swipes over the head of his prick. The memory of the arousal that frequently wafts from her heated skin causes a bead of pre-come to collect at the slit. He rubs it into the smooth and spongy flesh, shuddering as his shaft swells further in his fist. He’s been holding himself back; he knows he can’t push her, that any additional sign of dominance will worsen the skittishness that lies just beneath the surface. But here, laid out over his sheets, he can imagine dipping his lips against the corner of her neck as he inhales her scent, the green-gold of her irises thinning as he palms the sweet curve of her breast before taking its pebbling nipple into his mouth.

He grunts as his hand speeds, his legs straightening as his toes curl and his stomach clenches. His mouth gapes and his tongue twitches of its own accord, as if flicking the nub of her teat against the tip. He wants to hear her pant, to smell the slick build between her thighs as he nips and sucks, her quick and embarrassed huffs growing into kittenish mewls. He wants to lower himself down in front of her and breathe in her essence, to have her writhe uncontrollably as he first tastes, then fucks her dripping cunt with his tongue.

He comes with a roar, the white strands of his release coating his knuckles, across his belly, but he keeps stroking, milking himself until he’s drained and too sensitive to do anything more but to lie there. His arms hang limp at his side, the sheets bunched under him, hot and sticky from his efforts. A languidness settles over him, tinged with a faint melancholy as he tells himself _‘Soon’._

**VII**

“I hope all that self-love time you’ve been having won’t detract from your work, Hades,” Zeus smirks. “Oh, my apologies. _Kylo._ I forgot your latest incarnation when you picked up the slack with those so-called Knights of yours.”

Kylo tamps down the anger which wells up inside him. “Perhaps I’d have more time if you weren’t so preoccupied with your prick and paid more attention to the state of the world around you.”

Zeus waves him off. “You’re so quick to assign blame, but not everything is under my province. All I’m asking is that you don’t shirk your responsibilities.” He steals a look at the fruit that sits in a bowl at the center of the table, then reaches deliberately for the pomegranate.

“You have plenty where you are. Put that back,” Kylo growls.

Zeus arches a brow. He turns the fruit in his hand. “So fragrant. So full of promise.” He holds it to his nose, his nostrils flaring unmistakably as it nears the heavy, red skin. “Succulent and ripe for the picking. No wonder you’re so tempted.”

Kylo barely restrains himself from closing a hand along his brother’s throat. “What I choose to do in my personal life is no business of yours.”

“Ahh, but it is, Kylo. Although, if the state of your cock and your hand have anything to say about it, perhaps it isn’t quite as personal as you would like.” Zeus tosses the pomegranate in the air and catches it, then returns it back in the bowl with the rest. “I had an interesting visit today with our sister.”

“Which one?” Kylo grits out.

“Demeter. Apparently, the maiden you abducted—she is still a maiden, isn’t she?”

Kylo glares, refusing to take the bait.

“At any rate, this maiden, Rey, happens to be a favorite of the healer Maz Kanata. Since her disappearance, the old lady has been inconsolable, blaming herself for the girl’s loss. She’s given up cultivating the lands to make her poultices and potions. In fact, she’s given up teaching and healing, with widespread results. The loss of her influence on both the earth and the question of fatality is quite significant. Death begetting death, and all that.”

Kylo takes a step forward. “Rey is mine,” he growls. “You sate your lust with your wives—our sisters, your consorts, any pretty thing that catches your eye. You think with your cock first, and worry about the consequences afterwards, and stew in your jealousy and hubris when things don’t work out. And your children are no better. Yet you dare come here, into my kingdom, and accuse me?”

When Zeus responds, his voice is less smug and almost pleading. It should give Kylo a satisfaction to see his brother, the most powerful of all the gods, as thus, but it sends and unwanted shiver of fear through his heart. “I do not dispute your words. And whether you believe me or not, I do wish for you happiness. I think that having a wife—a partner who can understand and help shoulder the weight of your responsibilities and sorrows—would be a good thing for you. But in the case of your maiden—”

“Rey.”

“Rey,” Zeus amends. “In the case of Rey, there are other considerations. We cannot let famine and disease reign uncontrolled. If Demeter remains angry, the very survival of the humans is thrown into question. And where would that leave us?”

“I don’t want to give her up. I can’t—”

“What about a compromise? She has already consumed the food of the living while in the Underworld. She has one foot in both worlds now, not unlike Phasma and Hux. What if Rey were to spend part of the year above ground, and the remainder with you?”

“She has only begun to soften with me,” Kylo whispers, hating how broken he sounds. He thinks back to the night before, when Rey helped him with a question regarding the potency of a poison, and whether death was an inevitability or merely an option. Her smile at his gratitude was shy, but brilliant, and she had leaned towards him willingly when his gaze had lingered on the sweetness of her mouth.

“She would have no choice in the matter,” Zeus persists. “She would be required to return.”

“I don’t want her like that anymore,” Kylo cries out. “I have already taken her once against her will. I have since tried to be patient, to have her see me as I truly am.” He was so close, he knew it, and it was breaking his heart to let her go. “How much time do I have before she needs to return?”

“I am sorry,” Zeus says. He lays his hand on Kylo’s shoulder, and there is an honesty in his touch. “But I’m afraid she needs to go now.”

Kylo looks at his brother. The pity he sees is almost too much. “Then let me be the one to tell her,” he whispers, all too aware of the pain in his heart.

*****

“Rey.”

She turns. The look of expectation on her face is without fear or recrimination, and it guts him to think how all this could be lost. “My brother visited today. The balance of the world is disrupted. Your loss…” He stops, then barrels forward. “Your loss has created a disruption that causes both mortals and goddesses to weep. It is a loss which is without parallel in perhaps a very long time.” _Except,_ he thinks silently, _to mine._

Rey moves closer. Her hand dwarfs his, yet in this moment, there is no question as to who is stronger. “What are you trying to tell me, my Lord? If it is the truth, it would be better to say it in no uncertain terms, so I would know the best way to handle it.”

“I need to let you go,” Kylo says softly, his heart breaking once more as Rey’s eyes light up with hope.

She hesitates, and he knows she is trying to reign her excitement in. “I am sure it is not as simple as that. It never is, with the gods,” she adds wryly.

“I have little choice; at least, not one that comes without the threat of a war between the deities, or the end of mankind. My brother proposes that you split your time between the Living and the Dead. Half belonging to my sister Demeter, and the other, to me.”

“And this is acceptable to you?”

“No,” Kylo admits, his voice ragged in his honesty. “But I also realize that as much as I want you, I don’t want you in that way anymore.” He turns, unwilling to test the limits of his benevolence with her beautiful visage. “You are free to go. Your life is your own. If you should decide to return to the Underworld—” _To me,_ he thinks, “—then Phasma will be available to aid you in your journey.”

The silence lasts for so long, he thinks she might have already left.

“Thank you,” Rey whispers finally. She comes to stand in front of him and leans forward, stretching on her toes. The curve of her hand cups his face, and it’s all he can do to stop from leaning into her touch. She lifts up her chin, and presses her lips against his. It’s soft and innocent, and he is helpless against it as he wraps his arms around her.

Her body tilts against him, and instead of fists, she sighs, soft and pliable. He urges her lips to part, then traces their outline with his tongue, tasting her in that way for the first time. She is inexperienced, but eager, and the knowledge that no other man has known her in such a manner causes desire to shoot through his loins.

When he releases her, her eyes are wide and glazed, her lips wet and swollen.

“I’ll be back,” she promises.

He nods curtly, then turns on his heel, shoving aside his guilt at her hurt expression and the hope that dares to burn inside him.

**VIII**

It has been five months. Five months where the sharp pain of grief continues to soften, blanketing the world in forgiveness and color. Kylo watches from afar, as often as his emotions and work will allow. There are times when he witnesses the happiness which flits over her face, the tenderness that is evident in her ministrations to others, and the healthy color that has returned to her cheeks, that make him think he has made the right decision, as difficult as it is.

And if he’s more distracted at times, or his claiming of the souls offered to him more curt or decisive, his knights have the prudence to remain silent about his unusual behavior. As the scales between Life and Death slowly recalibrate, Kylo spends more time below the blooming Earth, shrouded in darkness and his loneliness.

“Honestly, brother, your demonstrations of self-pity are quite over-the-top, even for a deity.”

Kylo levels a dull gaze at Zeus, who is brimming with ill-concealed humor. “Misery at my expense? I’m glad to see that some things never change.”

“How little you must think of me. Did it ever occur to you that I am concerned for your state, and hope for your well-being?”

“Only when it is also of benefit to you.”

“I am wounded. You’re family.”

Kylo raises a brow. “Forgive me if I don’t necessarily consider that an advantage. We did vanquish our father, after all.”

“Despite your cynical outlook, I do care for you, Kylo. If you don’t trust me on the basis of familial loyalty, then consider this: I don’t take for granted the things that you do. I know, perhaps more than anyone else, how the decisions you make take their toll. I know that you give back to the world as much as you take, with the jewels that lay in your stones and the lifeforce contained in your soils. And in the case of Rey, perhaps even more.”

“Yet you are the only one who views me as such,” Kylo retorts, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

“Are you so sure about that?” someone asks gently as the sweet smell of sunshine fills the room.

“I had no hand in this,” Zeus protests at Kylo’s flummoxed expression. “Well...I might have assisted Rey’s transport here. Much to Phasma’s displeasure; I’m afraid I’ll have to soothe your ferrywoman’s ego somehow,” he adds with a lascivious wink.

“Keep up that attitude, and she’ll make sure you have nothing to soothe her with,” Kylo snorts.

Zeus’ laughter follows him down the hall as he shows himself out. Kylo is thankful that his brother has foregone his typical theatrics; at this moment, his mind is occupied by someone else.

“You came back,” he says hoarsely.

Rey’s smile is even more beautiful than he remembered. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

His face falls. “I don’t want you to come back to me out of misplaced gratitude or obligation.”

She walks towards him, with purpose in her gaze and determination in her stride, and he doesn’t know how he could have ever seen her as delicate or frail. “You gave me a choice, without conditions,” she says as she stops, no more than an arm’s reach apart. “You put your trust in your goodness and in my opinion. And with that, I choose to return to you.”

The breath which Kylo has been holding exits in a rush. “Demeter and Maz—”

“There are conditions. Imposed not by you, but by the those whose needs outweigh mine. But make no mistake: when the time is my own, to do with what I wish, I want to spend it here with you.” She closes the remaining distance and takes his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. “I want to help you with what you need, and to discover what it takes to make your kingdom run.” Her breath skates over the back of his knuckles, making him dizzy with need. “I want you to teach me what it means to be a woman, in every sense of the word.” She takes his hand and places it over her heart, and if Kylo has any lingering doubts, then the way she encourages his fingers to curl over her breast, her nipple peaking from the friction, wipes the remaining traces away.

 _Mine,_ he thinks, first in disbelief, then with a fierce happiness. He latches on to the thought like a lifeline, tugging at her until their bodies slot against one another as he runs his hands down the roundness of her shoulders, the definition of her scapulae, the arch in her back as if discovering them for the first time. His fingers inch along the swell of her buttocks and she pushes into his touch, moaning softly as he kneads those shapely globes.

“Kylo,” she whispers, urging him on. He tastes her lips for a second time, gasping as she matches each punishing stroke of his tongue. Her hands scrabble against his back, pulling at the cloak which has become a symbol of his duty, a shroud of invisibility and death.

He groans in response, his cock already filling from his need, swinging heavy between his legs. Her eyes widen as it rubs up unmistakably against her thigh, which causes her to shudder and clutch him a little harder. They cling to one another, trading kisses and panting breaths, teasing each other with trembling hands as they stumble back quickly to his quarters.

With a wave of Kylo’s hand, the torches flare to life, while the gem-studded stone walls sparkle around them. He is timeless, and she is by no means his first, but when he reaches up to undo the clasp of her robe, his hands shake as if he were a virgin.

The fabric slides softly down her body and puddles at her feet. Her skin is tan and nearly glowing, flushed with desire. She stands there bravely, letting him drink his fill, before cocking up a brow and looking pointedly at his dress.

He chuckles. It is an unusual sound, bouncing off the walls of the room, but he discovers that he quite likes it. He slowly disrobes, taking pleasure in the way her pupils widen as she drinks in the breadth of his shoulders and chest. He can’t help the smirk that crosses his face when he hears her breath hitch, her gaze fixated on the long length of his cock.

Kylo is not lithe like Apollo, nor graceful like Hermes, or as tall and brutish as Poseidon. But he possesses other attributes of all three, and knows that combined with his gravitas and his more than generous endowment, he cuts an impressive and masculine figure.

Rey lets out a strangled sound as Kylo kneels at her feet.

“Mine,” he whispers as he runs his hand along the back of her legs, delighting as the skin turns goose-pimpled with each stroke. He trails kisses along the insides of her thighs, relishing each gasp and unrestrained moan that escapes her lips. He moves painstakingly slow, teasing her as he licks and nips, both teasing and soothing her frustration with the softness of his lips as he works his way up to her cunt.

The smell of her arousal causes him to groan. Her mons is already stained a pretty pink, swollen under the tufts of her curls, and her slit contains the tell-tale slick between her legs. He inhales deeply, nuzzling her heated flesh as her fingers thread through his hair and grip him tightly.

 _“Ahhh,”_ she keens as he flicks out his tongue, lapping at her juices. The taste of her explodes inside his mouth, earthy and sweet. He alternates, flicking the nub of her clitoris as she rolls her hips against his face, pleading with her body as her words fail her. He grips her buttocks to hold her still, leaving her at his mercy as he swirls repeatedly around turgid glans.

It’s when she finally whimpers that he takes pity on her. His balls are heavy with his own lust as she thrusts piteously against him and he surges forward, licking, then fucking her with his tongue. Her fingers are clenched tightly against his scalp, nearly to the point of pain as she ruts against his face, coating him with her scent until his mouth and chin are covered in her wetness.

“Please,” she gasps. He breathes around her then stiffens his tongue, the sounds as he continues to eat her pussy sloppy and obscene. He leans back to take a deeper breath and survey his work, his eyes black with lust as he slowly eases a thick finger into her warmth.

“What do you want,” he rasps thickly. She stumbles as he rubs against a particularly sensitive spot. When her slicked walls stretch sufficiently, he adds another, knowing she will need it as his hand speeds, his fingers pistoning in and out.

The embarrassment that suffuses her face is nearly as enticing as the fact that she’s writhing on his hand. “I need you in me. Make love to me,” Rey begs.

Kylo relents, eventually removing his hand and taking her up in his arms. He carries her to the bed effortlessly and lays her down, surrounded by his sheets like the most precious of all his jewels.

She traces a finger along the shape of his lips, then brings it to her mouth.

“Fuck,” Kylo gasps as her tongue darts out to taste. He grasps the base of his cock and closes his eyes, willing himself not to come.

There is a hint of a smile on Rey’s face that’s shy, yet laced with mischief. Kylo situates himself over her, his elbows straddling her lovely face as she pulls him down for a kiss. She doesn’t balk at where his mouth has just been, and seems to delight in teasing him as well as she deepens the kiss and curls her slim fingers over the length of his prick.

He thrusts up against the softness of her hand. His cock is swollen and an angry red, and he knows he cannot last much longer.

“Now,” Rey begs. The words cause him to clutch the sheets, his knuckles white as he tries to stave off his orgasm. “Please, Kylo. Put it in me, now.”

Kylo’s cock is so hard that despite its length, it’s tilted up at a ridiculous angle. It takes some effort, but he shuffles backwards until he can position it correctly, then lets out a relieved groan as he sinks into the tight heat of her pussy.

Rey gasps, then arches up to greet him. He begins to move, slowly at first, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion. His nerves are on fire, with every stroke, every twist of his hips sending sparks of pleasure along the length of his cock, his thighs tensing with the effort of holding back. Rey runs her nails down the length of his back, their edges sharp, and he imagines the faint lines which must bloom in their wake, red from the capillaries the sit just under the unbroken skin, evidence of the blood that makes him alive.

Her hands suddenly palm his buttocks, and he gives involuntary thrust, unable to stop.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispers, catching the skin at the crook of his neck with her teeth. She wraps her slender legs around his hips and urges him on.

Kylo grunts, then gives in to his need. He wants to do everything—to worship every inch of her beauty, to kiss every bit of her flesh, and to show her just how much she means to him. He wants to claim her—to paint her with his release, and to fuck and rut with her like an animal in the wild. But for now, it’s about giving in to their mutual desire and need, this thing that has been building between them over the past year, and for him, perhaps years longer.

“Rey…” he groans as his hips speed, his cock ramming into her cunt as the words spill incoherently from his mouth.

“Kylo.” She bucks two more times then lets out a cry, her eyes rolling and lids fluttering as she comes, spasming rhythmically around his cock.

The heat that’s been building steadily in his groin spreads over the top of his trembling thighs as his pace stutters. The muscles in his back pop with tension and he gives one more thrust, his vision whiting out as he shouts and fills her with his seed.

The roar in his head eventually dulls as his cock pulses. He thrusts several more times, then gives a final, valiant twitch. He collapses on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight, listening to the sound of her breathing. When his eyes finally open, she’s watching him closely, adoration in her gaze.

“Wow,” Rey grins.

"You’re so beautiful." He peppers her with kisses. “Amazing. Perfect.” He rolls them over and on to their sides, trying to keep them locked together for as long as he can. His prick eventually softens, however, sliding out of her and leaving in its place a sticky mess.

The quiet of his bedchamber is now soothing instead of oppressive. Kylo swings his legs off the side of the bed and stretches, relishing the pleasant ache in his muscles, then walks to the nightstand and gathers a small washcloth, dipping it into the basin. He wrings out the excess water and returns to bed. Rey smiles gratefully as he begins to wipe away the traces of their sweat and sex, leaving her skin pink, scrubbed and perfumed in honey and the sweet pine and citrus of marjoram instead.

He rinses the cloth, then repeats his ministrations, cleaning himself before sliding back into the bed behind Rey and gathering her in his arms. His breaths huff quietly against the nape of her neck, the fine strands of her hair moving with each exhalation.

Kylo lifts his left hand to brush them to the side. With a quickening flutter of his heart, he traces four letters of a word he’s never told anyone before into her skin. She smiles softly as he seals the evidence of their meaning with a kiss, then entwines her hand in his as they both succumb to sleep.

*****

Unamo pulls up to Rey’s left, the thundering hooves of her steed kicking up a trail of dust. “There’s a skirmish in Oba Diah, my Lady. The number of fighters are small—perhaps several hundred, but their methods are violent and their medications quaint. Lord Ren is coming from Aargonar to meet us, but asks that we take stock of the situation to see if survival is a possibility for any.”

Rey nods, then slings her baldric across her shoulder as they ride forth. Her horse covers more ground than is possible within the mortal realm, carried along by the zephyrs and a nobler purpose.

They have just approached the outskirts of Oba Diah when the sick smell of blood lust taints the air. There is the painful whinny of a horse that has been felled; further in the distance, the clanging of swords slow, the heavy and irregular rhythm a sign of weariness.

Unamo’s gasp draws her attention. A young boy lays on the ground; his cheeks are still rounded with the fat of the very young, and his lashes are sticky from tears that have already fallen. A gaping wound further mars the dirty fabric that covers his flank, its threadbare cover unable to staunch the blood that pools crimson onto the ground.

He blinks as Rey approaches, her face half-hidden and brown hair haloed by the sun.

She reaches to her side. A year and a half ago, she would have worn a pouch containing medicinals made from the finest and most potent herbs. Today, she carries salvation of a different sort.

“Please, my Lady,” he gurgles in a voice that is too young, too high to have known such violence and loss. “Help me. You are too lovely to be cruel. May Death be my sweet mercy.”

His blue eyes turn glassy and unfocused, and Rey knows that there is no other choice. She brushes a comforting hand along his cheek, her thumb sweeping along his lids to keep them closed, knowing they will never again gaze upon the beauty of the Earth. But when she raises her sword, her judgment is swift and sure, freeing the young boy’s soul from the last thing tethering him to the mortal coil.

The burden of the act overwhelms her. Though gut-wrenching and devastating, however, she hopes to never lose that part of her humanity that allows her to sympathize with their suffering.

Kylo rides in swiftly, dismounting his stallion smoothly as he rushes to Rey’s side. His face tells her that he’s witnessed it all.

“I will ask Phasma to take special care of him on his journey,” he promises her. “You were the best he could have hoped for—kind and just, bringing him comfort as he joins us in our world.”

Kylo has always been handsome, but in this moment, with his face filled with earnestness and a quiet understanding, Rey finds him to be absolutely beautiful.

“You amaze me,” she admits as she falls into the comfort of his waiting arms. “How were you able to carry the weight of your responsibilities for so long, alone?”

“I have my Knights. But...even though I wasn’t alone, I was lonely. I had long given up hope of finding a partner—of finding my equal—until now.” He takes Rey’s hand and holds it to his chest; under the layers of clothing, she can feel the pounding of his heart. “Marry me, Rey. Be my queen, and we shall rule the Underworld together.”

**IX**

“Enough for tonight,” Rey says gently, placing the crystal globe aside. She lets out a laugh as Kylo practically pouts, determined to make him forget his displeasure. “You’re too tense. Even your knights are keeping their distance because of your ill-temper,” she adds, running a soothing hand along the back of his shoulders.

His muscles flex in response to her touch. “I am not ill-tempered,” he contradicts crossly. “I am just concerned about the state of the world.”

Rey hikes up the hem of her chiton, the slit in its side baring her ass as she straddles her husband’s thighs. “It is no different from what it was yesterday, or last month, or a hundred years before,” she counters with an amused tilt of her chin as she lowers herself onto his lap. Kylo lets out a groan as she wriggles into place, his cock making itself known as it nestles between the cleft of her buttocks. “Nothing changes just because we’re having a child.”

“Twins, Rey. Eileithyia has already proclaimed it so.”

“Be that as it may. It is something to be celebrated, not mourned.”

“I am not mourning!” The lines in Kylo’s face suddenly soften. “It’s only that this is everything that I’ve ever desired.” He draws her closer, the movement causing his chest to brush up against breasts that are overly sensitive, filled with her milk.

She is too swollen to be fucked comfortably at this stage, but they have learned to derive pleasure in other ways. Kylo loosens the clasp that holds up her tunic at one shoulder, the silky fabric sliding lower and catching on a nipple. He pulls it to the side, murmuring his approval as the dusky areola is exposed, her nipple hardening further under his fierce gaze.

He cups a breast and holds it in his palm. It’s overly round, filling his hand with its weight as he lowers his head and latches on to the teat.

 _“Ahhh,”_ Rey groans as Kylo’s tongue curls expertly over the sensitive nub. He suckles at it greedily, peeking up from under his long lashes as her neglected left tit begins to leak and her cheeks bloom red at the sight.

Kylo moves over. His tongue darts out to catch the droplet of thin liquid, blue-white in the light of the room, his dark head bobbing slowly as he suckles from the source.

Rey lets out a hiss as Kylo continues to nurse, his right hand finding her cunt unerringly, his thumb rubbing in slow and gentle circles over her clit. The warmth spreads through her belly slowly, the ebb and flow of her building orgasm washing over her not in a thunderous wave, but like the pull of the water under a full moon. She rocks against his slowing hand, and feels another burst of milk empty into his warm mouth.

Kylo lifts his head, looking inordinately pleased. He kisses her softly, then lays his hand proprietorially across her fecund belly.

“Mine,” he whispers happily.

Rey reaches across and entwines their fingers, thrilling at the kicks she feels underneath. She smiles, and nods.

“Ours.”

**_~Fin~_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on Tumblr: [nerdherderette](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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